


Save Me from the Devil

by Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will/pseuds/Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He basked in just imagining his sibling's face and tuned out Lucifer's musings. Emerald green eyes and the gruff smirk warmed him, relaxed his very being. He'd endure the cage forever, willingly, just knowing Dean was alive, safe, and happy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me from the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I'm relatively new to the Supernatural world. I binged watched every season on netflix, and then caught up to the rest. Finished season 11 recently and am excited about season 12. That said, I've been binge reading also, and thought I might try my hand at writing some too. Sam is my favorite, and love Jared too. Granted, I sorta like everyone, even the bad guys lol. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy the story and that I did justice to the story line. Please leave a review to let me know your thoughts and or critiques. God Bless.

Terror filled him until his body could no longer hold it all in. A single tear escaped, leading a torrent to cascade down both cheeks, unhindered. Air ways were clogged with boulders that weighed down on his chest, his breath hitched with every silent sob. If suffocation didn’t kill him, the panic would. The hammering against his ribs reverberated in his ears; there was no way it couldn’t be heard for miles up. He needed help. Someone please let him out of this cage. Deserved as it was, he couldn’t pay any more penance. “Please, just let me die”, he wanted to shout, but couldn’t bear to hear the resounding mock and laugh. Couldn’t stand the taunts or torture bringing attention to himself would cause. 

He forced air to enter his lungs, raw and mutilated from his screams of pain and desperation. Chains rattled as they were stretched taut from his sagging form, no longer able to hold his weight. His head hung low in broken defeat; his soul wearied, prayed for death. Blood leaked from the holes littering his ragged body, and flowed like rivers from the gashes on his back. Even shredded to pieces, mercy of forever peace eluded him and always would. You can’t die in hell, no matter how much one wished and begged.

Lucifer’s laughter echoed against the iron bars and fled into the abyss. Nothing froze his heart quicker than to hear the archangel elated or to have the devil’s smile turned upon him. The deceptive exultation never meant anything good, especially for him. An icy hand cradled his battered face and lifted gently.

“Sam, my dear, Sammy,” The soft tone sent shivers down Sam’s spine. He’d take outright anger any day. “Do you want to play a game, Sammy?” The rhetorical question was met with silence. Lucifer tsked, and then grinned at the thud as his prisoner was released from the shackles. “Come on now, bunk buddy,” the cheerful manner couldn’t hide the glint in his eye, “don’t be like that. Let’s have some fun!”

The archangel manhandled the deadweight of Sam away from the puddle of gore and touched two fingers to the tall forehead. Within a blink of an eye, Sam was healed, not a sign of the previous afflictions. While his skin may be like new, agony still thrummed underneath. His bones creaked and groaned as he sat up to face whatever plans the devil had in store next.

“You know, Sam, I don’t think you appreciate how much I do for you,” the archangel admonished, pacing back and forth, his hands behind his back. He didn’t even bother to look at his plaything. “I’m better to you than you ever were to your big brother, you know.”

His heart clenched with a different sort of ache at the mention of his sibling. Oh how he missed Dean. He didn’t like when Satan brought Dean into play, the devil liked to mar his memories. He basked in just imagining his sibling’s face and tuned out Lucifer’s musings. Emerald green eyes and the gruff smirk warmed him, relaxed his very being. He’d endure the cage forever, willingly, just knowing Dean was alive, safe, and happy.

A sigh of relief was his undoing. Lucifer turned back toward him, a prominent frown in place. “Care to share with the rest of the class, Sammy?” The quiet defiance only furthered his captor’s ire. “No? That’s too bad.” The archangel pulled Sam up by his hair, ripping strands out by the root. Sam grunted and followed the grip on his shoulder length locks.

Once upright, Sam was thrown against the metal enclosure, bars digging into his spine, bruising the pale white skin. Icy tendrils squeezed his throat, cutting off air flow to his windpipe. “Shall we try bobbing for eyeballs again, Sam? Let’s see if you feel more talkative when you can’t get a word in edgewise,” the playful suggestion came into action before the words were even finished being uttered. Sam’s head was forced deep into a tub of water just as cold as the devil himself. Over and over again, he was plunged into tundra darkness, unable to breathe save a quick gasp when he was pulled out. He wasn’t allowed to pass out after all. His futile struggle was more habit than effort to escape.

After an eternity, Sam was released to collapse at Lucifer’s feet, panting for precious air, and soaked to the core. “Have we learned our lesson? Can we be a good boy?” Without waiting for an answer the archangel took hold of him again, shaking him hard. Spittle flew as he yelled, “You’re a pitiful excuse of a human, Sam Winchester! You’re a worthless, impure, unlovable sack of waste! You kill everyone you love. Your mom, dad, Jessica, countless others, and let us not forget the multiple demises of Dean.” Each word was punctuated with a kick. “The only reason anyone stuck with you was to make sure you didn’t destroy or screw up anything extra! I know it, you know it, your dad knew it, and Dean was never allowed to FORGET it!”

As sudden as it had started, the tirade ended, morphing into an entirely different scene. Sam was cradled to the archangel’s chest, his wet cheek caressed as his head was kept from lulling to and fro. “Oh, Sammy. You never stood a chance did you? Your miserable existence was planned to go this route. You were always meant to end up here…with me. No one made you do a thing though; you just made choices that led you straight into my arms.” Hair was brushed from his eyes, and his arm petted like a child. “Poor Sam, a freak of nature, the boy king of hell,” Lucifer sighed, as if grieved. “Actions have consequences, little one. If you had only listened to Dean, you may have avoided this. You were never as bright as they thought. Quite honestly, I was disappointed when I met you.”

Sam was shoved away again. “I could have made you happy, Sam. Could have given you anything and everything you ever wanted, if you hadn’t betrayed me at Stull Cemetery. I let Dean live! Do you know how easy and satisfying it would have been to have crushed that boy like the annoying insect that he is?! But, no, I allowed his continued existence, and what was the thanks I got? Being sent back here!”

A spiked cylinder pierced Sam’s stomach, the resulting scream was ear piercing. “It hurts, Sammyboy, but I take solace in knowing, that sooner or later Dean’s going to die. It will probably be painful, definitely gory, and oh so glorious.” Each description was followed with a twist of the sharp tool, burying itself deeper and tearing at the insides.

“No, Dean! Please, not Dean.” The mere thought of his big brother at the wrong end of any of the monsters they hunted made him want to throw up. He could take anything thrown at him, but not the picture of the mutilated corpse of Dean. Sunken eyes rained salty droplets and his stomach lurched. He heaved pieces of his own flesh, blood and bile slicking a pathway for the meaty chunks.

His name was chanted, first a fretful reprimand and then a frantic call. “Sam… Sam. Sam!”

Sam shot forward, slamming into a warm, firm surface. His screams were muffled and his frail form was being squeezed in two. He didn’t want Lucifer to touch him anymore. Restrained arms wrestled to let fists fly, landing futile against his captor. “Sammy! Easy, Tiger. Come on, dude. You’re ok, now. I gotcha.”

That voice, the aftershave, the callused hand cupping the back of his neck. He wanted to believe it to be real, but he didn’t at the same time. Dean couldn’t be in hell, please Lord, not Dean. It had to be a trick. Yes, the devil yanking his chain for fun…but the ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach was starting to fade. It gave him pause.

Dean, taking the stillness as Sam registering his presence and that everything was ok, simply hugged him tighter and whispered into his sibling’s hair. “That’s right, little brother. Come back to me. It’s over now, just a bad memory creeping up. You’re alright.”

Sam’s hand rose to clutch at Dean’s arm, fingers entangled in the shirt sleeve. He pressed his forehead closer into Dean’s throat, relishing in the weight of his brother’s face on top of his head. He breathed in deep, allowing his brother’s scent to wash the rest of his nightmare away. The sob trying to burst out was dutifully swallowed down; the “no chick flick moment” rule rang in his brain. There was nothing left to do, but breathe and push it all back. Dean couldn’t erase or fix anything, and dwelling on it wouldn’t be good for either one of them.

Several minutes passed by before the scene was broken. Sam leaned back, untangling from the comfort, and cleared his throat. Sheepish, he avoided emerald green eyes. Instead, he glanced at every inch of his room, safe in the bunker, to appease the niggling in the back of his mind. Everything was just as he’d left it earlier before he’d gone to bed.

“You want to talk about it?”

Sam looked up and then back down, focusing on a loose thread his fingers were toying with. “There’s nothing to talk about, Dean. It’s just the usual stuff, ya know?”

Dean’s gaze was piercing, as if reading every line and all the in between. He grunted, stood up, and ruffled Sam’s already messy hair. “Okeydoke, well, if you need me, you know where to find me.” He stopped near the door at Sam’s call.

“Maybe you could stay in here and we watch one of those movies you’ve been nagging me to watch,” the younger Winchester proposed, unwilling to be apart from his sibling just yet.

Dean gave him a knowing smirk. “Yeah, ok. About time you showed interest in some real taste. I’ll go get the laptop and be right back.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Jerk,” his sleepy grin took away any bite.

True to his word, Dean returned in flash, drinks in hand. “Budge over, Samantha,” he shoved. 

If Sam was asleep twenty minutes into the film, head rested on his big brother’s shoulder, Dean didn’t complain. If Dean was still there come morning, fast asleep with the laptop streaming the movie’s menu screen, neither man mentioned it. If that was the best sleep Sam had gotten in weeks since seeing Lucifer again, then Sam was absolutely good with that. Dean was safety, love, home, and it went without being said, that so long as Dean was around, Sam was going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please take the time to let me know your thoughts.


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